I rested my chin against my knees and stared at him – then realized I probably looked like a child in that moment. Honestly though, in that moment, I felt like a child. I felt like a child who was lost, scared, confused, just wanted someone to take care of me for once. I wanted somebody to put their arms around me and tell me it would all be okay, that nothing bad was going to happen.
“Your dad really a bad guy?” he asked softly. “Like you've said he was?”
I shrugged. “I don't know. Sometimes he does shitty things – like up and leave me to deal with his debts and the people coming to collect them,” I said wryly. “Other times, well, he reminds me of the dad he used to be. Those times have gotten fewer and father between ever since my mom died. He changed and I've been trying to tell myself for so long that he'll bounce back. That he'll be a good man again. But, I realize now I've just been lying to myself. This just proves that man isn't coming back to me. My dad – my real dad – is dead to me. He's never coming back.”
We were both silent for a long time before Declan said, “Weird as it may sound, my dad's death was one of the best things to ever happen to me.”
I cocked my head to the side and raised my eyebrows. I didn't want to push any further than that, but I had to admit, I was curious. It was such an odd thing to say and it begged the question. Thankfully, I didn't need to pry though, because Declan continued unprompted.
“My dad ruined our lives,” he said. “Being back here, I realize it more than ever. Being in this place – this house – really highlights that
fact to me in flashing fucking neon letters. Had he died instead of my mom when we were younger, I have no doubts our lives would be vastly different than they are today. For the better.”
“Mine too,” I said.
Declan looked at me, truly looked at me, like he was seeing me for the first time. The intensity burning in his eyes sent a shiver crawling along my flesh, though surprisingly, it wasn't an unpleasant feeling.
“How'd your mom die?” he asked softly.
“Car accident,” I said. “Yours?”
“Cancer,” he said.
“I'm so sorry,” I said.
“Yeah, it was a long time ago,” he said, running a hand through his hair and clearing his throat, doing his best to put the tough-guy facade back up. “Want another beer?”
“No thanks,” I said, holding up my still mostly full bottle. “You were right. It's pretty shitty. Really shitty in fact.”
“You can say that again,” he said, a grin on his face. “Killian said someone would be dropping off some supplies for us tomorrow. Hopefully that includes some Guiness. Or, at the very least, something that doesn't taste like piss.”
Declan stood up and walked into the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, I looked toward the door, and the thought of escape flashed through my mind It would be so easy, I could just open the door and leave. Sure, he'd probably catch me eventually – but maybe not. I've always been a fast, nimble runner. There was always the possibility I could outrun him. All I needed to do was give myself a chance.
I looked at the coffee table, quickly searching for the car keys. They were nowhere to be found. Probably in his pants pocket. I hugged my knees tighter when I realized I probably wouldn't really leave. Sure, common sense and my little lizard brain told me to make a run for it the first chance I got. It told me I was being held prisoner and I needed to escape.
But, I had nothing to run to. I had nowhere to go. No money to my name. If I wanted to get out of Chicago, I couldn't. Not unless I slept on the side of the road and hitchhiked – and God knew where that would lead me or what kind of danger that would put me in. That little part of my brain said I could do it though, I could escape, get out of Chicago, and start over somewhere. Build a new life for myself – a life spent living for me for a change. God knew what that would look like though.
With a sigh, I took a drink from the bottle and tried not to gag on the rapidly warming beer – the lack of cold somehow making it even shittier.
Declan was standing in the doorway with a grin on his face, a new bottle of beer in hand.
“What?” I said.
“I half expected you to make a run for it,” he said.
“I thought about it,” I admitted. “But truth be told, I have nowhere to go. Wouldn't know what to do if I got away from you.”
“No distant relatives you can run to? Nothing?”
“Not really,” I shrugged, uncurling myself from my body and placing my feet on the floor. “My dad was all I had, and I was all he had. Now he's gone, and I've got no one.”
The moonlight came through the window and outlined Declan's body perfectly. My eyes moved along his toned, sculped form, sliding all the way down that perfect chest to his jeans. If the situation was any different, if he was just some guy who'd walked into my bar, I would have totally had the hots for him.
He was utter perfection, in every sense of the word. Tall, built like a house, shaggy, yet somehow stylishly unkempt hair, a beard, and those piercing blue eyes. Not to mention the tats that adorned his flesh and that toned, strong, ripped body. Made a girl wonder what was beneath those jeans – at least for a second, before reality hit me again. Reality could be such a bitch.
Declan walked into the room and flopped back on the loveseat. “Me neither.”
“You've got your son,” I said.